


Until Our Lonely Limbs Collide

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Feelings Realization, Jessica deals with emotions, Post-Season/Series 01, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 17:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: Jessica has to be different now, it feels wrong to be the person she was before, now that so much has changed and the world has one person less than it had before, and for the first time in her life, that’s a good thing.She’s staring at the vase on the table, for too long, and when Trish’s hand brushes her thigh, she almost jumps.It’s just that her mind hasn’t stopped telling her to reconcile, to fix things, to chase what she never had with Trish, and that should mean a positive, equal friendship but instead it means something entirely else.





	Until Our Lonely Limbs Collide

**Author's Note:**

> So I just finished season 1 of Jessica Jones and was instantly hooked, especially on the relationship between these two. I'm a few episodes into season 2 so this obviously isn't canon, but in some imaginary AU, this fic would have taken place post 1x13 (the finale). This is my first time writing these two, so I'd love feedback and thoughts on characterization, development, etc. Title is from the song "You and I" by PVRIS.

When the door clicks open, a familiar sound but without warning, Trish barely flinches when Jessica stalks in. She’s used to these unexpected visits, by now, and it’s around this time that she arrives —  12:30 at night, when Trish is just at the point where she’s either completely ready to fall asleep or completely ready to stay up and ponder everything she should really stop thinking about. Jess doesn’t say why she always comes, doesn’t need to, just as Trish doesn’t need to ask. She’s stopped pouring her a glass of wine or handing her a beer as a greeting, since she’s usually intoxicated enough upon entering, and she does worry about her, doesn’t want to enable her dependency. Tonight, though, the familiar whiff of booze doesn’t linger with her presence, isn’t even susceptible, but Trish doesn’t question it too much. 

Jessica takes a seat on the couch, hands clasped and gaze distracted, looking somewhere into the distance. When Trish comes to sit by her side, she bites her lip and averts her eyes even more. 

Trish knows she’s thinking, but what she doesn’t know is that her thoughts have been racing, more than usual, and they’re almost desperate, frantic, urging. They’re also all about her. 

The three words she’d said a little over four weeks ago, twice in one day, more than she’s said in years, repeat in her mind and she has to fight to keep them from rolling off her tongue, saying them because she hasn’t in so long and because they’re true. 

She knows she’s been shitty to Trish, much more than she deserves, after all they’ve both been through, together and apart, and she wants to be better, wants to start over, wants to live a different life now that  _ she’s  _ different now. She has to be different now, it feels wrong to be the person she was before, now that so much has changed and the world has one person less than it had before, and for the first time in her life, that’s a good thing. 

She’s staring at the vase on the table, for too long, and when Trish’s hand brushes her thigh, she almost jumps.

It’s just that her mind hasn’t stopped telling her to reconcile, to fix things, to chase what she never had with Trish, and that should mean a positive, equal friendship but instead it means something entirely else. 

    “What’s up, Jess? You okay?” Trish says, voice gentle and yearning to simply understand, and Jessica instantly thinks that she doesn’t deserve her, has never deserved her. But then her eyes dart to her lips, then quickly away, and she has no time for self deprecation anymore. 

She doesn’t know how long she’s known, if it’s recent or if it’s been there forever, a dimly burning flame underneath the mess of the her life, a constant, a source of love that was always so reciprocated she never knew how to explain it. She’s never really tried though, so she doesn’t know how, doesn’t even know if she’s capable of putting her emotions into words and speaking them truly. 

Instead, she says, “you know, it’s not fair that I keep barging in here every night without thinking of you, and the fact you might want to sleep or something.”

Trish gives her a sad sort of smile. “I haven’t been sleeping too much lately, anyways. You know you can always come here.”

Jessica sighs. She takes Trish’s hand in hers, and can see the confusion on Trish’s face without looking up. She’s never been one for any sort of sympathetic, caring gestures, and reflecting on it, she just feels like an even bigger bitch for trying now. It also makes it much more awkward, because Jess’s mind rushes to what life would have been like if she’d held her hand more often, as a friend and maybe in another way too.

It’s definitely not something new, she decides suddenly. When they were younger there was always a sense of intimacy between them, even if it was ravaged by Trish’s mother or Jess’s trauma or Jess’s powers or really anything related to Jess, but they went through shit together- shit that no one else would ever be able to understand, even if they had the chance to see everything through their eyes firsthand. She honestly doesn’t think she’ll ever experience that with anyone else, ever, especially not at the rate she’s making friends (nonexistent). 

It’s something else too, some sort of distaste for anyone else Trish gets involved with. She never liked Simpson, never had reason to, but something about seeing him do something as simple as stand close and talk to Trish put her on edge. She read it as overprotectiveness for someone she felt compelled to keep safe, not even entertaining any other options, but somehow some whiskey and staring out her window at four in the morning made her mind wander, and made her realize. Seeing her kiss Kilgrave, fight against it as it happened, be held in his arms, full of fear, was something else entirely, and she thinks she’s never spoken truer words than she did that moment before she ended him, for good. 

Jessica is a lot of things, and she’s never really considered herself brave until recently. She didn’t think she earned that title until she put Kilgrave down, on her own, finally. She still doesn’t think she deserves many compliments, but when she lifts her hand to brush a strand of hair away from Trish’s face, behind her ear as her fingertips brush her cheek, she thinks she’s brave now. 

    “Can I kiss you?” she asks, and as soon as the words are out of her mouth she regrets it, pulls back just a little, wishes she’d drank this night before coming or at least stayed home. 

Trish’s face twists, surprised but not disgusted, or at least not showing it, and she doesn’t move her hand from where it barely rests on Jessica’s knee. 

    “What?”

    “I…” Jessica starts, and she stands up, starts pacing, doesn’t even know how to explain herself. “I...just wanted to, but it’s fine, I don’t know what I was thinking but I just wanted to, I've always kind of wanted to…”

She’s rambling like a goddamn teenager, like a flustered freshman in high school who misread her crush and this isn’t her, she’s regretful but never about taking what she wants, or asking what she wants because she’d never want to force anyone into anything they didn’t fully want, especially not Trish, never Trish. 

    “Hey, hey, sit down again,” she says, and reaches out a hand. Jessica sits down without taking it, and keeps her eyes on the ripped fabric of her jeans. 

    “Are you okay?” Trish asks again, and Jessica silently heaves a breath. She’s talking in that voice again, just on the edge of being condescending, talking to her like she’s her goddamn therapist. 

Jess nods, and her hair falls to cover her face as she keeps staring at her pants. 

    “Are you drunk?” Trish asks hesitantly, and this time Jessica makes it obvious that she’s annoyed. 

    “You’ve been with me while I’m drunk more than you’ve been with me while I’m sober,” she snaps. “If I was drunk, this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve asked to kiss you, would it?”

Trish is silent, surprised, and her lips are pursed. “Jess, I…”

    “It’s fine, forget it, pretend I never said anything,” Jessica says, standing and moving towards the door. “It was stupid, I’m stupid, goodnight.”

    “Jess, wait,” Trish says from behind her, and when her fingers wrap around her wrist it’s firm, right, not willing to let go. 

Jessica turns, defeated. She really doesn’t want to continue this conversation, she just wants to go home, drown herself in booze, and wake up and hopefully forget this ever happened, pretend it was a nightmare or a manic episode or god knows what, just not really  _ her.  _

But Trish is looking at her- really looking at her- eyes a little brighter than before, and she recognizes a sort of subtle fidgeting in her features, in the way she keeps her lips pursed, that she connects with anticipation. 

She doesn’t even let herself consider what that could mean, though. 

    “You want to kiss me?” is all she says, and Jessica could laugh because first of all, most people in New York City want to kiss Trish Walker, and two, the idea that she finds it shocking to be desirable is something else.  _ She really has no idea how captivating she is,  _ Jessica thinks, and then,  _ what the hell?  _ She’s never thought that way about anyone, but it’s true; Trish is all softness and sweetness and heartache under luxury, pain under idealism and it’s gorgeous, she’s gorgeous, everything about her is gorgeous. 

    “Yes,” Jessica breathes, the words out of her mouth before she can stop them, too eager and too impatient, unable to say anything else. 

Trish steps closer, slow, and it feels like a game until she’s in Jessica’s space, staring her down with the ghost of a smile on the corner of her lips.

    “You can,” she says simply, and Jessica says her name in response almost instantly, warning her to rethink this, even though she hopes she’ll never change her mind. 

    “Jessica,” Trish says, bringing her hand to the space between her shoulder and neck, fingers in her hair, and she steps closer and it’s all the confirmation she needs. Her right hand comes to Trish’s arm, other hand on her waist, and she hesitated for just a moment before moving quick. Her lips touching Trish’s, gentle but insistent, sure and  _ there,  _ and she prays she can say more with her mouth than she can with her words. 

Trish is kissing her back,  _ her  _ Trish, and when she pulls her flush to her chest, parting her mouth just a little, Jessica grins. It’s soft but sexy, impatient but slow, and Jessica keeps her waiting, pulling away every time Trish pushes her further, just because she needs to know that she wants this too, just as much as she does. 

Trish moves her backwards, pinning her against the counter, and it’s so much at once, almost too much but Jessica just runs her fingers through her hair, taking it in. Trish’s hands linger on her waist, never above or under the stretch of skin between her jeans and her shirt, and it’s moments before Jessica thinks it’s physically possible for her to pull away. 

But then she does, and quickly gets out the words, “are you okay with this?”

Trish pulls away, back in her own space but hands still set, unmoving on her waist. She gives her an expectant, almost humorous look. 

    “Do you think I would have let all that just happen if I wasn’t?”

Jessica nods, over and over, more to herself than to Trish, confirming that she’s wanted, she’s not crazy, this isn’t unreciprocated. 

    “Okay,” she breathes, and then grasps Trish’s face with both hands and pulls her back into another kiss. 

It’s like everything she always wanted but never had, wasn’t lucky enough to get and quite frankly didn’t deserve. She still doesn’t think she deserves Trish Walker, not as a friend, not as an ally and certainly not as a...whatever this is, but if she’s being honest she doesn’t think anyone deserves her. 

She’s too pure, too forgiving, too kind and too sure of herself, in every aspect; even when she’s doubtful, she knows exactly what she’s doubting and exactly how to improve, and she takes the appropriate steps right away without hesitation. She’s everything Jessica always wanted to be, and she won’t admit it, but everytime her mind would wander to a future with someone — fantasizing the unlikely, a common pastime that would always make her more pissed off at the world than she already was— she imagined loving someone as clear minded and  _ whole  _ as Trish. 

    “What does this mean?” Trish asks, when they break apart again. She’s breathless, and it makes Jessica reel even more, taking in the sight of blond mussed hair, intense eyes and swollen lips that are all  _ her  _ doing. 

    “I don’t know,” Jessica admits, brushing her own hair back. “I’ve just...always wanted to do that. Like, for as long as I’ve known you, and something about finally getting rid of Kilgrave but almost losing you in the process just made me...need to be honest.”

Trish grins. “I think I like honest Jess.”

Jessica almost scoffs. “If you were anyone else, I’d say don’t get used to it.”

She takes her hand, leading her into her bedroom, and it’s not a sexual advance, certainly not, but it’s not innocent and friendly either; nothing about any of their motions are anymore. But they decide, silently but together, that there’s nothing less to say tonight, conversation can wait until tomorrow. It’s early for Jessica to sleep, but Trish yawns, pulls back the blankets of her bed and gives her a glance as an invitation, and she slips beside her. 

The pillows smell like her, so do the blankets, and Jessica fights the urge to move closer to Trish, rest against her side and let her warmth radiate. Seconds later, Trish does exactly that, fingers intertwining again like she can’t bear to let go, and her cheek lays against Jessica’s shoulder. Something about Trish’s closeness and the fact she hasn’t rejected any of this makes Jessica wonder if she’s been feeling the same things all these years, and she thinks she should’ve acted sooner, not been so afraid and certainly not kept her own feelings buried underneath for so long. 

But then Trish hums against her skin, legs brushing under sheets and moving in closer, and Jessica can’t think of anything but the now, trying to memorize the feeling of Trish so close— so unlike the way they shared hotel beds whenever they went on vacations or fell asleep on the couch after movies in their youth. This is different, and Jessica’s never been a fan of change, but she thinks wherever this goes, it’s the best direction her life has had in awhile, if not ever. And for the first time in years, sleep comes easy, and without the need of alcohol. Trish by her side is more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send feedback and/or requests in the comments, or at my Tumblr under the same username!


End file.
